Dune_ House Atreides - Brian Herbert [16]
Spacing Guild: one leg of the political tripod maintaining the Great Convention. The Guild was the second mental-physical training school (see Bene Gesserit) after the Butlerian Jihad. The Guild monopoly on space travel and transport and upon international banking is taken as the beginning point of the Imperial Calendar.
—Terminology of the Imperium
From his perch on the Golden Lion Throne, Emperor Elrood IX scowled down at the broad-shouldered and too-confident man who stood at the base of the royal dais, with one of his boots, still dirty probably, on the lowest step. As polished-bald as a marble banister knob, Earl Dominic Vernius still carried himself like a popular and decorated war hero, though those days were long over. Elrood doubted anyone still remembered the man’s reckless glory days.
The Imperial Chamberlain, Aken Hesban, moved swiftly to the visitor’s side, and in a brusque tone ordered Dominic to remove the offending foot. Hesban’s face was sallow, his mouth framed with long and drooping mustaches. The last rays of Kaitain’s afternoon sunlight cast streaks high on a wall, shining golden rivers through the narrow prismatic windows.
Earl Vernius of Ix removed his foot as he was instructed, but continued to stare cordially at Elrood. The Ixian crest, a purple-and-copper helix, adorned the collar of Dominic’s tunic. Though House Corrino was vastly more powerful than the ruling family of Ix, Dominic had the maddening habit of treating the Emperor as an equal, as if their past history—good and bad—allowed him to dispense with formalities. Chamberlain Hesban did not at all approve.
Decades ago Dominic had led legions of Imperial troops during the rough civil wars, and he had not truly respected his Emperor since. Elrood had gotten himself into political trouble late in his impulsive marriage to his fourth wife Habla, and several Landsraad leaders had been forced to use their House military might to enforce stability again. House Vernius of Ix had been among these allies, as had the Atreides.
Now Dominic smiled beneath an extravagant mustache, and looked on Elrood with a jaded eye. The old vulture had not earned his throne through great deeds or compassion. Dominic’s great-uncle Gaylord had once said, “If you are born to power, you must prove you deserve it through good works—or give it up. To do any less is to act without conscience.”
Standing impatiently on the checkerboard floor of polished stone squares—purportedly samples from all the worlds in the Imperium—Dominic waited for Elrood to speak. A million worlds? There couldn’t possibly be that many stones here, though I don’t want to be the one to count them.
The Chamberlain stared down at him as if his diet consisted entirely of soured milk. But Earl Vernius could play the game himself and refused to fidget, refused to inquire into the nature of his summons. He just stood still, smiling at the old man. Dominic’s expression and bright eyes implied knowledge of many more embarrassing personal secrets about the old man than Shando had actually confessed to him—but the suspicion galled Elrood, like an Elaccan bitterthorn in his side.
Something moved on the right, and in the shadows of an arched doorway Dominic saw a black-robed woman, one of those Bene Gesserit witches. He couldn’t make out her face, partially concealed as it was by an overhanging cowl. Notorious hoarders of secrets, the Bene Gesserit were always close to the centers of power, constantly watching . . . constantly manipulating.
“I won’t ask you if it’s true, Vernius,” the Emperor finally said. “My sources are unerring, and I know you have committed this terrible act. Ixian technology! Pah!” He made as if to spit from his withered lips. Dominic did not roll his eyes upward; Elrood always overestimated the effectiveness of his melodramatic gestures.
Dominic continued to smile, showing plenty of teeth. “I am unaware of committing